The Art of Assassination
by slaves R us
Summary: What if when Ikuto ran off Easter reacted in a diferent mannor, a more violent mannor. The result is heavy crimes commited by their corperation diminishing the guardians. But as we all know, what comes around, goes around.If you have read this reread Ch13


**A/N I'm back! This is the rewrite of its predecessor, **_**The Art of Assassination**_**, which I found that I might be able to do a better job of writing now that I've had some time to improve. The story hasn't been tweaked a lot, but a lot of singular events have been added and others tweaked. This rewrite will only be finished if it actually picks up, if not, then I won't continue, because if it isn't good, then I will move on. Enjoy.**

_The Art of Assassination: Preface._

The dark night air swept around him as he passed through it, his skin stinging from the bitter cold of the night. The moon shined down upon him like a bird watching its prey, an eerie light magnifying the fear that washed through his mind and sank into his very bones. His hands were cold and sweaty, a light sheen glaring of his skin and into the night, his breath ragged and out of beat, the same went for his heart. The black and broken thing had been sacrificed long ago for the crimes and pleasures he had found in the streets, the new world that he wouldn't give up for anything, albeit, that was before. Before, before, before, before he had orchestrated the kidnapping of his once-best-friend, before he had thrown away his soul for money and greed, before his entire world became corruption.

It had been so simple, so perfectly safe, so little and harmless, something that he once thought he could control. But then the truth of his deeds caught up to him, the police, his 'associates', and even the man he once called friend. The investigators had been tipped off by a nameless stranger, an anonymous tipster who sought justice over what had happed. Everything was blown open, his crimes were now brought to light before all to see, his friend, his nation, and even his wife and child, he had been crushed. And so it began, a struggle of powers that couldn't have ended with him, wouldn't end with him, his mistakes must have their punishments, and his crimes were severe. The world crushed upon him, driving him into depression and guilt ridden fits, thoughts of his own death and even suicide came upon him.

And at his breaking point, he was released, cleared of all charges by a bribed judge and corrupt jury. His brothers in crime welcomed him back, put him back to work, gave him everything back, except his soul, they never gave him that single thing back, no one could. And so here he was, running scared through the back streets, his right hand clenched tightly to a briefcase, the handle slick with his own fear. He had seen it coming; he hadn't been surprised that it would come to this, to the point of which he would have to die to repay his dept to the world, and everyone he had affected with his diseased life. But he couldn't stop his panic from building as he found that the rumor was true, that the assassin who couldn't die, who was never seen, whose existence is denied by every man asked. The one, perfect assassin.

He'd seen the signs, the secret messages, the warnings of his soon arrival, but yet, he had never seen anything that confirmed his existence. Maybe he imagined the conspiracy within his brothers, but the fear was their. His dread filled to the brim as the man had walked towards him not minutes ago, and then he ran. He had run with every cell in his crying out in terror, adrenalin filling his legs and mind as he fled, putting as much distance between himself and the terrible cause of his dread. He had rounded a corner before he realized his mistake, his grave, oh so grave mistake. For while he fled, none had chased him, not a single man, woman, or child had even given him a glance.

And then he found himself eye to eye with the feared assassin himself, the one who killed for money and vengeance, the single best of any who ever tried their hand at his art. He had been waiting for his prey, every step the man had taken had been calculated, all of them reasoned and timed until the trap was sprung, sealing the black hearted man's fate. He felt cold as the blade entered his chest severing the skin in which the man had hid himself away. Blood seeped from the wound, unfelt by the assassin's prey, his nerves hindered by the shock of rushing death. The blade now pierced his blackened heart, the blood seeping out in a gush, coating the blade and the floor at his feet. He weakly gripped his chest as he fell, the assassin's tool pulled from his chest and sheathed into its previous place at his belt. As the man fell he heard the assassin speak, his words like chilling ice the pierced his skin and heart like the knife had, the smooth voice washing over him as the world faded around him.

"May you find forgiveness, for I have none to give." And the assassin walked away, the kill over with, his payment ensured and next assignment awaiting. He felt no regret at the man's death; it was as fluid as others, only different in reason. But he would not think of this now, he had another job to accept, another life to take, another addition to his mythical legacy, for his name would always be remembered.

_Kira, the legendary perfect assassin, the best._

**A/N And that's it, all of its right here. Please review; it's the only way I can know if this is worth it. Bye!**


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